Dark Night of the Soul
by Xenoglossy
Summary: Tragedy breeds genius. After the death of his brother, Edward Elric travels the dark paths of scientific enlightenment. mild RoyEd


**The Dark Night of the Soul**  
_Cephied Variable_

"They told us to take him to you."

Roy raised his gaze from the papers to give the private a withering look. "Your superiors are aware, of course, that he has surrogate family living in Rizenbul."

The private winced noticably and stumbled into a salute, "Yes sir, however it was recommended that he be placed in the care of his commanding officer considering... considering..."

Roy's eyes drifted back to the papers. Small print, smudged signatures; his body and voice were working on autopilot and he could not account for his cognitive functions at the moment. They were somewhere off in a small, rural town on the outskirts of Amestris asking: _'But Alphonse. Where is Alphonse?'_ although they'd all but told him where Alphonse was. He caught the words "contract" and "valuable", which dragged his eyes upwards again, narrowed, and forced his mouth into a frown.

"No matter what your superiors may think, Private, I doubt even the Fullmetal Alchemist will be of use in this condition." he folded the papers neatly in half and handed them back to the flustered soilder, "I recommend that you take him _home_."

"But-but-"

- and Roy was surprised when the dusty, crimson clad figure in the corner of the dark room rose, swayed, and interrupted with a voice dripping something, something, _something_... undefinable. "But, _sir_, the military _is_ my home."

Roy blinked, stared helplessly at Edward who just stared back with a steely expression and arms locked in a severe cross over his chest. Numbly, he took the papers when the pirvate offered them and signed along the dotted line like a good dog of the military.

**I. The wise man is not surprised by death; he is always ready to leave.**

Legal Guardian did not equate father, and Commanding Officer certainly did not equate Legal Guardian. He allowed Fullmetal into his home with reluctance and showed him the empty second bedroom (by now, Roy noted dismally, overgrown with webs and caked in dust; he had the sense to be embarassed about it, even it _was_ "only Edward") with trepidation, calmly waiting for the time bomb to stop ticking and for the blonde to throw a trademark temper fit (and perhaps some of Roy's fine china) before storming off to Rizenbul to find his brother. Because in that world, that world of normalacy and simple predictability, Alphonse was always just around the corner waiting with a tinny sigh and sombering comment when his brother got in _these_ kinds of moods.

Fullmetal put his bags on the bed and Roy closed the door wordlessly. Later, he would mourn. Later when Edward was sleeping and he could remember where he'd put the key to the liquour cabinet.

Later never came and instead, Edward walked the halls of the apartment like a ghost. He was awake when Roy went to bed, and awake when Roy went to fetch his coffee in the morning. At first, the older man assumed that Fullmetal was having troubles sleeping. He could imagine the boy tossing and turning, fading in and out of fitful slumber haunted by nightmares, trauma and a heavy sense of burden. All those things that Roy was intimately familiar with but liked to pretend he was detatched from. He couldn't affirm this- they rarely spoke. Murmers in the kitchen, questions without answers. Roy went to work and Edward... did whatever traumatized soilders do during their medical leave. He read a lot, but spent even more time staring out the window- past the horizon- at things Roy couldn't see.

Roy had never been good at handling children and Edward wasn't a child. No matter how much the military expected him to be treated like one, Edward Elric was the Fullmetal Alchemist and not the other way around.

They danced around each other like adults- with grace and counterance and lies so blatant, neither of them spoke at all. They'd always been in that odd perdicament of knowing each other all too well, and yet not at all- something flying between them, dangerously webbed in subtext, that Edward never picked up on and Roy refused to admit.

It took three weeks for Roy to figure out that the boy wasn't sleeping. Sallow cheeks, dark eyes- these were the physical symptoms of sleep deprevation, but uneasy slumber was only to be expected, all things considered. It was in the way Roy would awake, startled, at three fourty-eight in the morning only to find Edward laying on the kitchen floor with all the lights on, staring hollowly at the ceiling. The way he had no concept of the passage of time. The way he swam through his life, walking weighted and slow like he was treading water, only to jump with cat-like reflexes everytime Roy called his name (title, one or the other, one and the same).

"How is Edward this week?" Hawkeye would ask quietly, fingers kneading wrinkles into manilla folders, body tilted over his desk and bangs slightly eschew.

"Yeah, the boss' getting better, right?" and Havoc would mask concern with nonchalance. And Fury would look at the floor and mutter something about a horrible tradgedy until Farman coughed and noted that the effects of trauma usually receded after a month, settling into something decidingly less potent and Breda would nod sagely, unvoiced pessimisms glassing over his eyes.

And Roy would sigh heavily, arrange his pens in a perpendicular pattern and square his shoulders, "Fullmetal is on the swift road to recovery." he would say with a painfully thin smile, "I'm certain that he'll be back to his absolutely _charming_ self in no time." a calculated pause, "Perhaps I'll bring him into the office sometime soon." (never promise a date), "I think that the atmosphere would do him good, after being cooped up in my apartment for so long."

And then came the part where Roy would pray for Havoc, Breda, _anyone_ really, to crack a lame joke about his personal life.

He came home to find Edward sitting on the curb watching the sunset. He was surprised to see him- Fullmetal squinted at the sunlight these days- and went to stand beside him.

"A homoculus."

Roy inhaled sharply, almost didn't _hear_ the words. Edward hadn't spoken a word in over a week. He swallowed, shocked to find that his throat was constricted and his eyes were itchy, "W-what did you say, Edw... Fullmetal?"

"It was a homoculus who did it." the boy's voice was unnervingly distant, but at this point Roy didn't care what he was saying or how he was saying it. The dark haired man dropped to his knees and stared up at Edward, waiting for him to speak again.

"You never asked, but I know that you wanted to know." a derisive snort, "_Everyone_ wants to know who finally beat the infamous Fullmetal Alchemist. Who managed to kill the _invincible_ Alphonse Elric." and he laughed. At first Roy though he was crying- shoulders shaking, face tilted towards the ground- but no. It was bitter, broken laughter, "A homoculus killed him. A fucking _homoculus_. Imagine that."

Roy's momentary joy was quickly erroded and replaced with a tight pit of dread. Slowly, he rose to his feet as Ed talked.

"The homoculus told me interesting things..."

**II. I was not afraid to die, but to die without having been enlightened.**

_Not fit for service_. Roy watched himself write the words, hardly believing them. He should have know- should have, should have, should have, _did_. Alphonse Elric was one living half of Edward Elric and vice versa to the point that Roy couldn't help but think that perhaps their codependant relationship was just another punishment passed down by the so-called "Gods" of Equivialent Trade (although, if asked honestly, Roy would have called it a blessing).

_Not fit for service. The soldier in question has not slept for..._For days? Weeks? No, Roy wrote _over a month_. _Soldier in question has exhibited serious deficiencies in both mental and emotional health. Also, a steady deterioration in said stabilty has been observed over the course of his medical leave period. It is my personal opinon that he be referred to a proffesional psychologist or, more favourably, discharged immediatley considering his exceptionally young..._

"What are you writing?"

Roy blinked and looked up to see Edward leaning across his writing desk, dressed in clean clothes and with his hair _washed_ and loose over his shoulders, "Did you sleep, Fullmetal?" he asked, sudden and shocked, hands shaking as he tried to subtly slip the paperwork into a drawer. Edward hopped on the table, swung his legs out, and leaned back on his palms (this action was so very casual, so very _normal_ and so very typical of him that it sent a shiver down Roy's spine), reading over his shoulder and out of the corner of his vision.

"You think I'm insane?" aha, and there was the old edge, the old _fire_ that burned brighter than anything Roy could have hoped to dance across his finger tips. He gulped back the words, _What else was I supposed to think, Fullmetal, with you acting the way you have this past month._

Instead, he said: "I think that you should go home."

"Oh," the blonde rolled his eyes and swivled about so that he was facing Roy, "So what- you're using some false insanity claim to get me discharged from the military? Isn't that kind of... illegal?"

_Nothing false about this claim, Edward, and you're only helping to prove my point,_ "Perhaps, but it is also necessary. You don't belong here."

"Ha ha ha, you really think it's grand, playing the hero." the boy inched across the desk and Roy frantically slammed the top door of the desk shut as Edward's hands fell on his shoulders. Movement, fabric brushing fabric, gold bangs in his face- Roy breathed in and didn't bother to exhale as Edward's face dipped in, too close, "Sorry, but I can handle myself perfectly _fine_, Colonel."

And thus began a dance of different sorts. Fullmetal was back, all thorny defenses and explosive temper, ready and willing to raise his hackles over every minor offence. But there was a calm there, a sense of heady wisdom superimposed over his personality. Roy caught glimpses of it in the moments where they touched- touched verbally, intellectually, in those moments where Edward would make obvious excuses to touch bodies whether it involved violence or not. Oh, this was _Edward_ alright- and perhaps it was Edward hardened and matured for what he had experienced However, Roy couldn't shake the feeling that it was Edward, _broken_.

He told the same stories at the office: _oh yes, he's feeling much better. He even laughed yesteday_ and for once they're so true that it aches. Every Night, he sat at his desk and flipped through the discharge request, telling himself over and over again, _Something's wrong, something's wrong_ until Edward waltzed into the room and made a demeaning comment about _something_ (Roy wasn't listening to half of it these days. Once upon a time Ed was talking about homonculus. Once upon a time he claimed that fairy tale creatures had killed his brother).

"I'll have to take you back to Rizenbul myself," Roy muttered into his coffee one day, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, "I'll rent a car and drive you there."

"Hmph," Edward snorted, "You wouldn't be able to afford it."

"Granted, but it's better than this at least. What are you waiting for?"

And that one stopped Fullmetal in his tracks. He didn't look shocked exactly, but his expression turned pensive, "Who said I was waiting?"

Roy smirked against the poercelain rim of his mug. Score, one: "Well, aren't you?"

His own sleeping patterns began to turn erratic. He lied in bed often thinking of Alphonse, an empty and complete suit of armour banished of life _so_ easily. He lie in bed and thought of Edward, one room over, a wall between them, lying with his ghosts. He rose and walked the halls of his apartment attempting to banish his own memories, drenched in blood and guilt and rage as they were. Once, he gently nudged the guestroom door open to watch Edward sleep, only to find himself studying in detail, and with great wonder, the way no worry lines creased the boy's brow and how he slept with a peaceful aura of contentment and _enlightenment_.

The next morning, Roy sent out the discharge papers immediately.

----------------------------

"We're more alike than we think, you know that?"

Edward threw the ratty, old book in his lap and Roy hardly needed to look at it to know what it was.

"Where did you find this?" he demanded.

Ed grinned wrly and flopped onto the couch, sitting probably a little closer than he should have, "Once I realized that you have studied the theory, I found it easily enough."

Roy clenched the book between his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"When you wrote this journal, how often did you sleep?" Edward asked, too casually.

It took Roy a moment to answer; a moment to pull himself away from a dark room stained with pain, overflowing with books and contrition, "... not often. Almost never."

"That's the first step. If you want to know the answer, you can't sleep."

"The answer to _what_, Edward?" the boy replied with a kiss. He moved so quickly that Roy had no time to fend off his charge. Their fingers entwined, their bodies folded together and Edward's mouth moved against the older man's fruitlessly, seeking a desire that Roy had learned to restrain long ago.

"You're very young..." he said when Edward finally gave up.

"Don't even _bother_ with that line," the blonde grumbled, tearing his hands away and rolling off Roy, sinking back into the couch with all the petulance of a child. They didn't say anything for an unbearably long time.

Roy still held the book in one hand, and Edward stared at the opposite wall as if he were trying to bore holes in the plaster.

"If what he said was true, the Fuhrer is one of them. One who happens to enjoy playing with _you_ in particular." and, Roy supposed, it wasn't so much that Edward was _insane_. Oh no, Edward was wise beyond his years- only he was living in an entirely different world than the rest of humanity these days. "I know you sent the discharge request." the boy said harshly, "They'll be here for me in the morning."

**III. Wrapped in the seam and mantle of his heart.**

Edward was right. They came in the morning. Roy had spent the entire night sitting at the kitchen table drinking brandy and coffee, putting together the pieces in his head until he finally had it figured out. So when Edward ambled into the kitchen, half awake but fully dressed, seconds before the military came pouding at the door Roy was horrified to admit that he wasn't the slightest bit surprised.

"Out the window, Fullmetal. I'll follow you shortly."

He sat at the table until the soldiers broke down the door. Then he snapped his fingers and engulfed the entire apartment in flames.

"That was a pretty stupid thing you did back there, Colonel." Ed noted sometime later when they were dirty and sticky and wet, huddling in an abandoned warehouse somewhere in downtown Central, 'You're a traitor to the state now."

Roy laughed bitterly and slapped his forehead. "Gee, Fullmetal. Thank you. I hadn't realized that."

"What, you aren't going to make some smarmy-ass remark about how I should be thankful considering you just threw you entire fucking life away for me?"

Roy ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his tinder fingers together, "I didn't throw my life away for you specifically, _Edward_. I came to stop you."

Ed's face changed subtly- so subtly in fact, that only someone who knew him as well as Roy could have possibly picked up on it, "You figured it out, then?"

"You're going to make the Philosopher's Stone," Roy slitted his eyes and slowly drew his hand out of his pocket, "I can't let you do that."

The edges of Edward's lips tugged upwards in a nasty smirk, "Why? You can't let me destory this stupid city? Even for Al?"

"I can't let you destroy _yourself_," Roy corrected (although in many ways, he already had), "Not even for Al."

Edward met the intense gaze for a few moments before shrugging it off and reaching into his pocket for a long cylindar of fresh, white chalk. he bent down and began drawing a wide circle across the cracked, cement floor. His jacket slid off his shoulder and Roy caught a hint of coal black tattoo, snaking patterns up his collarbone, "People always say you're some kind of man of honor or something, but I know the truth." He finished his circle and stood, dusting his hands off in satisfaction, "You're too sentimental for your own good. You're not the kind of soldier who can just stand there and decide to shoot someone he loves in the face just because thousand of lives are at risk. I get it, now, Mustang. I get _everything_." Roy stared at him and thought, _This is Edward Elric, and I've let him slip through my fingers.'_, "Just don't step outside this circle and you'll live."

The boy smiled at him, golden and brilliant, before clapping his hands and touching his palms to the ground. There was a deadly still before the entire world was engulfed in red. Roy Mustang looked at his hands, then looked at Edward and made the hardest decision of his life.

**fin.**


End file.
